Smooth CriminalA Harleen Quinzel OriginJoker story)
by Ocean Eyed Redhead
Summary: Harleen Quinzel is the young and undermined criminal psychologist with Gotham PD. One day, after speaking with the Joker, he becomes obsessed and so does she. How long until Harleen is pushed to her breaking point?
1. Chapter 1

"Harleen!"

Harleen Quinzel's head whipped up from her computer screen and she felt the air leave her lungs. Two police officers escorted a handcuffed man in a purple shirt and button up vest through the bull pen towards the interrogation room. Harleen's eyes quickly darted over to Commissioner Gordon who had called her name. He waved for her to come over to him. Minimizing the files on her computer screen, Harleen stood to her feet. Her heels clacked as she maneuvered her way around the desks of other officers to Gordon. It was obvious that Gotham's finest didn't believe Harleen belonged with them. She was just a criminal psychologist. Albeit, a very good one, but still a stranger who had no place interfering with their criminals. A glorified analyzer of feelings that they all assumed they could do without. All of them except Gordon who found frequent use for Harleen. She halted before him and glanced over his shoulder only to feel startled once more. The man she now recognized as the Joker made eye contact with her. His eyes weren't dark just because they rimmed with black paint but all because they were pitch black themselves. Like smoke from a massive fire.

She forced her large blue eyes to look at Gordon who gazed at her with understanding.

"Shocking, isn't he?" he muttered, nodding backward to where the Joker had been.

Harleen nodded in response.

"I'm about to interrogate him about his bomb threat. We'd like to get your professional opinon on who he is and what makes him tick."

"We?" Harleen smirked.

Gordon smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"It doesn't matter who as long as I say it."

Gordon started towards the interrogation chamber. Harleen walked as fast as her pencil skirt would allow her to move her legs.

"Watch and observe. While I'm talking to him you're going to have to fend for yourself and convince Burnes, Simmons and Truman that your opinion is the professional one and therefore right. I've vouched for you for you so you're on your way to them believing your every word, but no matter their snide comments or ignorant reactions, take notes. I'll come out and debrief you when I'm finished. Got it?"

Gordon clarified as they reached the interrogation chamber.

"I think so," she replied.

Gordon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before entering the chamber. Harleen took a deep breath and stepped inside the observation room. The officers' gazes quickly flickered from the two way mirror to Harleen as they grunted ignorant comments between one another.

Harleen could make out some words like:

"…sleeping with…"

"…pretty face…"

"…xy body…"

And even:

"…useless…"

Harleen cleared her throat and raised her head, walking confidently to the two way mirror and studying the scenario.

"Where did you put it?" Gordon asked, his voice sounding over the speakers.

"Put what?"

"I think you know what," Gordon replied calmly.

"The bomb? I didn't put a bomb anywhere…" The Joker said with feigned innocence.

Harleen narrowed her eyes. He was difficult to read. He didn't tap his feet or shift his shoulder and refuse to make eye contact. No. It was as if he was having a casual conversation with an old friend.

"Well, doc? Is he lying?" Truman asked in his brusque voice.

Harleen's eyes remained trained on the Joker.

"Too soon to tell…" she muttered.

Truman scoffed. His skepticism was tangible.

"Now, bombs… Plural… I put BOMBS in a few places," the Joker said leaning back in his chair.

Gordon didn't break eye contact as he sat across the table from him. He folded his hands on the table almost in the same fashion as the Joker.

"I don't suppose that you'll tell me where…" Gordon sighed.

"I will. For the proper price," the Joker nodded.

Harleen raised her brows as he finally made some sort of gesture that was outside the norm of regular conversation.

He pointed his fingers at Gordon and furrowed his brows mashing his lips together.

"He's lying. He just fiddled. He's lying," Officer Simmons said. "And I don't need a degree to tell me that."

Harleen looked to her left, casting a steely gaze on Simmons.

"What my degree tells me is that in the case of an average human being fiddling is a sign of deception, however the Joker is not an average person. When it comes to people with psychological disorders they tend to do what extroverts do when lying which is to freeze up. So he's telling the truth, actually. There are indeed multiple bombs…" Harleen said coolly.

Simmons maintained a cold gaze with Harleen but broke it off when he saw that she would not surrender so easily.

"Not to mention the Joker has proven to be reasonably honest with his attacks. That's something I didn't need a degree to tell me."

The room was dead silent, Harleen felt her heart race for a second as it normally did after she would say something rude in her defense.

"So what's the price we need to pay?" asked Gordon.

The Joker leaned forward on the table and lowered his head, giving Gordon a knowing look.

"I want to talk to the lady."

"Ramirez is on patrol," Gordon replied flatly.

The Joker shook his head.

"No, no, no, no, no, no…The one who was in the bull pen. That blonde angel. The one who's listening right now."

He turned his black gaze to the two way mirror almost as if he could see Harleen through it. The police officers chuckled around her. She swallowed and averted her eyes awkwardly.

"What do you make of that, College?" Truman snickered.

Harleen sighed and folded her arms.

"He's chosen who he assumes is the weakest link. He wants to upset me, which he thinks will upset you which will cause some sort of chaos for him. He wants chaos," Harleen deduced, still looking at her weathered heels.

"Why do you want to talk to her?" Gordon asked.

The Joker leaned back again and turned his eyes back to Gordon, a smirk on his red lips.

"Do you want to know where the bombs are or not? I'll tell her. You can listen in if you like, but know that as good of a guy as you are Commissioner, and as much as I respect you just a bit more than other schemers, I'm only gonna tell the blonde. Not you or the other ah…apes back there," he said nodding to the glass where they watched in awe.

Gordon shared a long gaze with the Joker before sighing exhaustedly.

The Joker looked at him expectantly.

"Alright then," Gordon sighed, standing.

"Mhm?" The Joker prompted.

"You're going to Arkham. We'll figure this out without you."

With that, Gordon exited the interrogation chamber. A look of exasperation on his wary face. The officers chuckled, murmuring remarks about how Harleen probably couldn't have handled it anyway. Gordon entered and all went silent. Harleen bit her lip and looked up at him. Gordon frowned then looked back at the officers.

"I want Burnes and Simmons to escort him to Arkham. Harleen, come with me and let's debrief you. See if anything you got can help us," he said rubbing the back of his neck.

A thirst to prove herself burned in Harleen's throat. She swallowed and nodded her head, preparing to speak up.

"I'll talk to him," she said in a voice just loud enough for them to hear.

All eyes were on her. Gordon gazed at her incredulously. She kept steady eye contact with him.

"Harleen, no. He'll eat you alive," Gordon muttered.

Harleen shook her head and took a step towards Gordon.

"I'll be fine. We need to find out where those bombs are and if talking with me is all it takes, then I'm fine with it," she said, trying to appear noncommittal.

Gordon studied her for a moment, then sighed, hanging his head. He looked to the interrogation chamber with wary eyes where the Joker sat almost patiently. He stared straight ahead, something sinister lurking behind his dark eyes. Gordon turned his gaze back to Harleen. She was so young. So innocent. So kind. How could he let her be near this man? However, something in her eyes convinced him otherwise. Those big blue eyes held something more than fear and longing. They held confidence and a sort of bravery.

"Alright. Go in," he finally said.

The other officers snickered and mumbled rude comments to one another. Gordon watched as Harleen simply ignored them, shouldered past him and exited the observation room fearlessly.

Quickly, Gordon sped after her. Just before her fingers tapped the keypad, Gordon stopped her by grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face him.

"Listen, Harleen. Don't let him get to you. Don't let him know anything about your past or present or future. Nothing personal that he can use against you. Trust me when I say that you do not want the Joker in your head. Got it?"

She nodded and left his gentle grasp. Harleen tapped the code into the keypad that resided by the door to the interrogation chamber and heard a hiss and click as the locks surrendered. She pushed open the door with one hand and stepped inside, immediately looking at him.

Harleen had to bite back a gasp. Even from across the room his eyes scorched her. Black as coal and burning into her.

As astonsished as Harleen was, she managed to maintain her composure. She counted to three mentally and began walking towards the table he sat at.

"Evening," he said studying her as she walked towards him.

Even though he had spoken, Harleen could only hear the echo of her shoes in the room and her heart beating in her ears. Struggling not to shake with anxiety, Harleen pulled out the chair opposite the Joker and fluidly sat before him, placing her arms on the table, fingers laced.

"And who are you?"

Harleen's composed expression faltered for a second but she managed to return to it almost immediately.

"Where are the bombs?" Harleen asked in a monotone voice.

He leaned back in his chair, placing his cuffed hands in his lap.

"Tell me your name."

"That wasn't a part of the deal," said Harleen with a chiding look.

The corner of his red lips twitched up in a half smile.

"You said you wanted to talk to me. Not ask me questions. So let's talk," shrugged Harleen.

He narrowed his eyes at her and then abruptly leaned on the table again, this times his hands in his lap.

"Listen," he said licking the corners of his mouth quickly, "I know what's happening here. Commissioner in there said that I was going straight to Arkham instead of talking with you. Then he leaves and you come back contrary to what he said. This obviously means that he told you no, but you persisted. Why, though? Certainly not for my, ah…looks. No, no, no… It's because you are trying to prove something."

Harleen leaned back in her chair, staring at him speculatively.

"You're seen as a pretty face. The doe eyed blonde with the degree she probably slept with professors to get. Around the office, you feel the disapproval of your peers and suppress your knowledge of their desire to be with you…sexually," he said, enunciating each syllable of the last word.

He stared at Harleen expectantly. She raised her brows at him.

"As true as some of those observations may be, you are incorrect if you assume their thoughts bother me," she said simply.

"Hm," he said thoughtfully.

"Now," Harleen began, inclining her head, "where are these bombs?"

He cocked an eyebrow and sat erectly in his chair giving her a knowing look.

"What's your name?" he asked again.

Harleen realized that he would not relent. The only way to figure out where the bombs were was to say her name.

"Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Where are the bombs?" she said with no feeling.

"There's one at the boy's home on North Wells. One at the country club in Shorey and then another in the low income building in the Narrows," he said stoutly.

"And when do they go off?"

"At seven seventeen tonight."

Harleen gave him a nod and stood swiftly.

"Where are you going?" he asked in an accusatory tone.

She turned to face him and shrugged.

"I got the desired information."

"Aren't you gonna ask me how I ah…slept? Or dreams I had and what they could mean?"

"And why would I do that?"

He gave her a noncommittal look and leaned back in his chair once again, pursing his lips.

"You said you were a doctor. Obviously not traditionally medical. You're a psychiatrist."

Harleen folded her arms, slightly impressed.

"Psychologist actually," she corrected.

"So? Don't you want to stick around and talk? Do you wanna know about my childhood traumas?" taunted the Joker.

Harleen scoffed lightly and started towards the door.

"I'm not that kind of psychologist," she called over her shoulder.

"What kind of psychologist are you?"

She touched the handle of the door and sighed, impatient to get out.

"I'm a criminal psychologist," she said, still facing the door.

She could have exited at that moment when a soft silence had commenced, but something made her linger.

"And they sent you in here because ah…they assume I'm a criminal? A run of the mill criminal?"

Harleen looked over her shoulder and made eye contact with him. He was staring at her with a certain vigor in his gaze. One that was full of sincere intrigue. She smiled slightly.

"Essentially."

He nodded once and then shrugged.

"See you around, Doctor Quinzel."

Harleen gave him a swift nod and left. The conversation haunting her as she left.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Consequences

Unsettled. That was the only word that could describe how Harleen was feeling.

Her hands gripped the wheel of the cherry red, mustang convertible. This was the car she drove during the summer. When winter hit, daddy would take her black Porsche out of storage and have Michael-their butler-drive it to Gotham for her. Needless to say, Harleen was not at a loss for money. In fact, Harleen couldn't even remember a time where she hadn't gotten what she wanted.

She wanted to take archery? Sure.

Attend Jujitsu lessons for five years? Absolutely.

Learn French and Spanish? Of course.

A coach to teach her how to properly ride a horse? Why not?

Gymnastics from ages four to eighteen? Naturally.

Granted the gymnastics hadn't really been something she wanted. Rather a way for her parents to put Charlotte Anton's parents in their place. That was their family. Power players. Always trying to be the best. Making sure they were on the top rung of the ladder at all times. All times. They were the kind of people that recognized the simple, but effective power of influence.

The cool air from the AC blew in Harleen's face. The perspiration that had developed enhanced the cool refreshing breeze. She hadn't even realized that she was sweating until that moment actually. She was though. And she knew why.

The Joker.

He had been so spot on.

Well, almost spot on.

Harleen's manicured fingers reached the dial of her radio as she cranked up the volume. She tried her best to focus on the lyrics of the song playing and sing along with them-but the voice of the Joker played in the back of her mind. All his accusations and assumptions. Some right, some wrong. Part of her thinking some of his wrong accusations may have been right. She did not like that. Harleen rarely felt this. Doubt. Sure, she had reason enough to feel it when working at the station, surrounded by the skeptics and chauvinists. Those she had rejected, scorning her in spite.

This rarely affected her though. She hadn't been lying when she'd told him that.

She reached the north side of Gotham where her penthouse resided. The doorman-Blake-stood attentively at the entrance. A look of warm recognition flickered in his eyes as he recognized the large, brick building that was her home. The entire top floor belonged to her.

It wasn't until Harleen reached her door that she realized her hands were trembling. She fumbled through her keys, the gold pendant from her Ivy League college clattering against the others. The key for her convertible, the key to their cabin just four hours north and the key to her parents' mansion in East Gotham. Finally she reached the brassy looking keys that unlocked the top and lower lock of her apartment door. Though she lived in one of the nicer parts of Gotham, it didn't hurt to have a strong amount of security. Entering the apartment she dropped her keys on the tall, thin, mahogany table beside the door then flipped the light switch.

Her apartment was illuminated by many lights instantly. A rounded one residing on the table beside her large, brown, L-shaped, leather couch, adorned with pillows varying in size, shape and colors. A tall one in the corner with a light pink shade and a series of bulbs that lined the ceiling corners. She tossed her oversized, black leather purse onto the couch and removed her heels, flinging them towards the coat closet in the wall. She picked up the remote off the arm of the couch and turned on the forty eight inch, flat screen television bound tightly to the wall. The news blared about the Joker being taken into custody.

They showed Commissioner Gordon leading a group of officers into the GCPD, the Joker handcuffed in their grasp.

Harleen swallowed and changed the channel to the Health station where a female doctor was diagnosing a woman with a psychological disorder and explaining it to her. Harleen dropped the remote on the couch limply and walked into the kitchen. Much like the rest of the apartment, the walls were brick and pipe. Three hangings lights brightened the room. There was a marble, island table in the center that had a glass bowl of fruit and metallic fridge beside the counter with the large, metal sink. Above the white stove were four skillets varying in size.

Harleen opened up the wooden breadbox and removed a bag of bread to make a grilled cheese. Cooking would get her mind off of her uncomfortable encounter.

Wouldn't it?

As Harleen placed the two slices of buttered bread that hugged three rectangular slices of cheddar in the skillet, she felt a chill go down her spine. How had he known so much? How could the Joker tell that Harleen was seen as a piece of meat and not a person? How did he know how much it bothered her? How did he know that one of her professor's had slept with her?

Professor Donnelly.

It wasn't until she felt a wetness on the back of her hand that Harleen realized she was crying.

Eating settled the queasiness in her stomach, but the headache did not subside. She couldn't be expected to sleep with it. No.

Walking to the restroom across the six hundred dollar, furry area rug she unzipped the back of her pencil skirt and unbuttoned her blouse.

Once there, she flipped on the light and caught her reflection in the long mirror. The blue of her eyes stood out against the redness. Black eye makeup stained her cheeks. Harleen couldn't tell if it was from crying or how many times she had rubbed her eyes. She shimmied the skirt down her small waist, over her rounded hips and past her long, slim legs that were lean from years of backhand springs. Harleen averted her eyes from the mirror as she slipped off her blouse, eyes glued to the glass box that contained her shower.

Slowly Harleen looked at her reflection. Black underwear and light blue bra. Her figure was an hourglass, but somehow quite slim. It was just above average. Perhaps that was why so many men were attracted to her-at least physically. Harleen was an approachable beauty, but once they got to know her she became a sort of annoying, younger sister. She talked too much, knew too much and her independence and stubborn demeanor drove them away. Harleen's wittiness and charm were intimidating when evoked causing men to shy away. Somehow though, Harleen didn't care. A relationship wasn't really a goal for her. Why would it be? She had a career.

After a long shower and slipping on a tee-shirt featuring the GCPD logo Harleen headed to the living room, towel drying her damp hair.

Flopping onto the couch, she laid down with her head on a pillow watching a woman perform an emergency tracheotomy. Moments later she was asleep.

"BRIIIIIIIIIING! BRIIIIIIIIING! BRIIIIIIIIIIING!"

Harleen gasped awake. Her eyes frantically searched the room for her phone. It sat vibrating and screeching on the glass coffee table before her. Her hand shot out and snatched the phone, her eyes stung from forgetting to take out her contacts.

'6:24 AM' the phone read.

Beneath the time it read 'GORDON-GCPD.'

'_I'm not supposed to be at work for another two and a half hours,' _thought Harleen curiously.

"Hello?" Harleen said, trying to mask the grogginess in her voice.

"Harleen, I need you now."

Harleen's brows raised at the alarm in Gordon's voice. She slowly sat up and ran her fingers through her tangled, blonde hair.

"Yeah, sure. What's happening?" she asked.

There was a pause. Harleen heard Gordon sigh loudly.

"Harleen, go to channel two."

Harleen grabbed the remote from the end of the couch and flipped the TV over to Channel Two news with Vicki Vale. She stood in front of the GCPD, microphone in hand. The mic was pressed just before her plump, pink lips.

"Welcome back to GCN where we are still watching with bated breath the Joker holding Officer Aaron Cash hostage."

The camera changed to a new shot. A terrifying one.

The Joker, still in his purple button up with green vest, held a gun to Aaron Cash's head. He was peeking out from behind Aaron, a wicked grin on his red lips.

"The Joker has one demand. To see someone he calls 'Doctor Lady.' Who is the mysterious woman?"

"What…" Harleen breathed, her hand coming up to her mouth.

"The Joker has never received medical or psychological treatment at Arkham or Blackgate so we have ruled out any possibility of doctors there. So far, our sources say that the Joker talked to a woman last night when he was interrogated about the bombs. A criminal psychologist named Harleen Quinzel who specializes in forensic profiling and criminal psychology," continued Vicki, the screen switching back to her lovely face.

Harleen gawked as her face appeared in a small box in the top left corner. A photo of her work I.D.

"Harleen? Harleen!"

Harleen was shaken from her gaze by the voice of Gordon on the phone.

"Huh? Oh, I'm getting my car keys now," Harleen said, springing to her feet unsteadily.

"No. I'm sending a patrol car for you. Then we…what? What, Simmons?" Gordon said calling out to someone.

Harleen ran to her bedroom.

"I'm not giving him the phone," Gordon said flatly.

Harleen raised a brow, shimmying on a pair of jeans.

"He wants to…to talk to her? Um…Harleen?" Gordon said in a shocked voice.

"What?" Harleen replied.

"The um, Joker is asking to speak with you. I don't know if-"

Harleen blinked and grabbed a jacket from the foot of her bed.

"Just give him the phone," Harleen said in a low voice.

There were a few seconds of muffled voices and then the very clear voice of Aaron Cash cursing at the Joker for telling him to 'calm down.'

"Hello, beautiful," the Joker's voice sounded.

Harleen continued to get dressed, pulling on her jogging sneakers.

"What's it gonna take for you to let Cash go?" Harleen asked heading back to the living room.

She took a seat on the couch, looking back to the television. The Joker still had Cash in hand, the gun pressed to his temple firmly, Gordon's cell wedged between his ear and the crook of his shoulder.

"Getting right to the point. I love it!"

Sirens sounded, getting closer to Harleen's apartment. The cruisers were hear to pick her up.

"State your terms," Harleen said slinging her bag over her shoulder and running out the door, not even bothering to lock it.

"Okay, so, Old Gordon here wants me to go to Blackgate. I don't like that idea at all, Doctor. I want you to get me into Arkham."

Harleen took the stairs, two at a time and ran outside the building. Two cruisers swerved to a halt in front of her. Sprinting to them, Harleen hurled herself inside. Wordlessly, both cruisers sped off towards downtown Gotham.

"Alright, I'm sure that we can manage that," Harleen said, taking in deep breaths.

Harleen wasn't quite sure as to if that goal could be accomplished, but right now Cash's life was on the line and she would say anything to appease the Joker. Outside, stationary objects streaked by. The cruiser in front of the one Harleen was in cleared the way for their course.

"Now, now, now, Harleen… How do I know you're not just saying this? How do I know I am guaranteed my sanctuary at Arkham?"

Harleen frantically ran her fingers through her hair and gnawed her lower lip trying to breach an impassive but realistic answer that would tide the Joker over until she arrived.

"You don't know that. You're just gonna have to trust me," Harleen tried.

There was a long pause. Harleen swallowed awaiting his reply. She hadn't heard a gunshot so Cash must still be alive.

"Are you on your way, Doctor?" asked the Joker, enunciating each syllable. "I want to talk to you face to face. All this phone talk is just so…impersonal."

"I'm in a cruiser now. I'm very close," assured Harleen.

"Good, because Cash is getting impatient."

"Hey, screw you, Clown!" Cash's voice sounded.

The cruisers arrived before GCPD swiftly. The crowd of spectators and reporters parted with gasps and screams. The Officer driving Harleen's cruiser exited the vehicle and threw open her door.

"I see you, Harleen!" the Joker cried, happily. "You have sixty seconds to meet me."

The phone clicked off. Harleen shoved it in her back pocket. Something heavy slipped over her head. A bullet-proof vest. The officer fastened it securely to her frame. Four policeman gathered around Harleen, escorting her through the crowd of clambering reporters towards the front steps of GCPD. Camera lights flashed, questions were bellowed. The situation was the epitome of chaos.

"20! 19! 18!"

The Joker was counting down.

Cash came into view, the Joker shouting behind him. Gordon loomed further back watching the situation in a readied stance. He almost looked poised to attack.

"14! 13!"

"I'm here! I'm here! I'm here!" screamed Harleen, frantically.

She stood before the Joker. He gazed at her with an almost loving expression in his coal black eyes.

"Ah, Doctor Lady!" cried the Joker, shoving aside Cash. "Glad you could make it."

Cash stumbled and braced his hook that served as a hand on the step, helping him to stand. He glowered at the Joker and took angry steps towards him.

"Call off the ape, Commissioner, or I'll take Doc out at the knees!" the Joker cried, aiming his gun at Harleen's legs.

Cash looked to Gordon, an expression of anger and defiance on his face.

"Hold off, Cash!" Gordon yelled.

Cash stopped dead and sighed in frustration. He reluctantly retreated down the stairs of the GCPD and stood to the side with the other officers. The Joker lowered the gun and snatched Harleen's wrist, jerking her to him. She stood with her chest pressed to his, faces just inches apart. He flashed his yellow teeth at Harleen. Her knees threatened to buckle but she maintained her composure.

"I'm here. We've agreed to put you in Arkham. Now what do you want?" Harleen said in the most stable voice she could manage.

"Everyone gets a fancy doctor at Arkham, yeah? To _fix_ them?" he asked.

"Fundamentally."

"I want you to be my doctor. You leave the GCPD for Arkham."

"I already told you that I'm not that kind of psychologist," Harleen replied with a stern look.

"But criminal psychologists still work there, hm?"

The Joker wore a knowing expression. He was right. They primarily used criminal psychologists on the more sinister patients. She still had one more card to play.

"And if I don't agree?"

"Oh, I'll kill you," he replied simply.

"No, you won't."

He raised his brows at her, a mixture of surprise and astonishment on his pale face. The Joker almost seemed impressed by her.

"Why do you say that?" asked the Joker as he licked the corners of his lips.

"Don't deny you want me. You want me and aren't going to dispose of me so easily. Not when there's still a chance that you'll get what you want," Harleen said in as firm a voice as she could manage.

The Joker stared at Harleen, coal black eyes searching her face for a flicker of fear. A moment of weakness that he could attack her with. She held strong though. Her large, blue eyes, though innocent and kind, were full of courage. Full of dignity and a sort of ruthless tension. Yet, he was no more surprised than he had been last night. When the Joker had seen Harleen in the bullpen, wide-eyed and acquitted, he'd expected a scared, little girl. Instead, in that interrogation room, he had met a fearless woman with strong convictions.

The Joker had tried every trick in the book. Staring at her with an intimidating gaze. Scrutinizing her every word to detect any weak points she revealed. Taunting her. None of it had worked.

"Harleen, Harleen, Harleen Quinzel," he said in a rhythmic tone. "You're smarter than you seem."

"I know," replied Harleen promptly.

The Joker's mouth formed an 'O' and he smiled at Gordon.

"Well, let me tell you something, _sweetheart_," the Joker said, pronouncing each syllable with casual venom. "I know you want me too. You want to fix me and show your family, your coworkers, the Commissioner, the entire GCPD, the mayor, all of Gotham that you are capable of more than just being a pretty face. This is not a one sided affair. We both benefit from this, darling."

Harleen attempted to fight off a sneer at his term of endearment but failed. Her look of repulsion only made the Joker laugh. An awful, high pitched sort of giggle.

Slowly, Harleen looked over her shoulder at Commissioner Gordon and the other Officers who stood with looks of complacent tension on their faces-though alert, years on the job had made them accustomed to this sort of pressure.

Swiftly, the Joker's hand came up and gripped Harleen's chin, pulling her face closer to his.

"Well? Do we have a deal?" he hissed.

"Yes," spat Harleen.

Something swelled within Harleen. Was it anticipation or fear? Excitement or trepidation? Either way, a career at Arkham was not what she had planned for. Not what she had studied for. In an odd way though, she felt as though it was meant to be. Arkham was where she was supposed to be.


End file.
